<li>covertly turning a situation to one's advantage</li>
</ul>
<hr>
<p>Anglo-Saxon rune poem:</p>
<blockquote>Dæg byþ drihtnes sond, deore mannum,<br>mære metodes leoht, myrgþ and tohiht<br>eadgum and earmum, eallum brice.</blockquote>
<blockquote>Day, the glorious light of the Creator, is sent by the Lord;<br>it is beloved of men, a source of hope and happiness to rich and poor,<br>and of service to all.</blockquote>
<p>There is not a Norwegian rune poem for Dagaz.</p>
<p>A modern poem:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Mornings are my least favorite time<br/>
for when the clouds move to the darkness break<br/>
the sun glares bright<br/>
and I awake<br/>
and you are forced by the light<br/>
to go away.</p>
<p>Brain fog rolling in, skies all white<br/>
and overcast. Temperature far too high<br/>
to drag myself to Dead End Shrine<br/>
for a taste of self-carved self-stolen divine.<br/>
Nothing much to do, except myself drag<br/>
out of bed long enough to write.</p>
<p>The day drags on me like a wet blanket<br/>
and I fail to see how this is "restoration"<br/>
to be so beat upon<br/>
by an uncaring sun.<br/>
I can only see my wife<br/>
when falls upon the earth the covering of night<br/>
or when the bedroom window blinds are drawn<br/>
and I spend whole afternoons in Morpheus' song.</p>
<p>I heard in a half-whispered voice<br/>
that the glittering myth<br/>
would once again come to live<br/>
and that I should rejoice.<br/>
But what if things go wrong?<br/>
What if the details come out mangled?<br/>
Dagaz on its side, hourglass,<br/>
seconds turning to hours and days that will pass,<br/>
recounting to myself<br/>
every time you have held<br/>
me in your arms.</p>
<p>I know not what I'll do if something is changed<br/>
in that world I have only ever caught a glimpse<br/>
of, have explored only a fraction in my dreams.<br/>
